


Atlas turns the world

by manthepan



Series: new tricks and wishbones ( a Sheith AU ) [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Atlas is his dog, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Keith is a dog walker that Shiro most definitely has been watching walk dogs for the past six months, M/M, also this is my first time posting to ao3, enjoy this set-up to some fluff, hoo boy shiro is so gay, shiro is a teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 13:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17767781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manthepan/pseuds/manthepan
Summary: Shiro is a professor for a local university and saw a cute young man walking dogs around his building. What better reason to approach him in a Starbucks than to ask if he can walk his Samoyed, Atlas?





	Atlas turns the world

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response fic chapter to orsaverba’s “throw a man a bone”. orsaverba and I have been close rp partners and friends for going on 7 years so naturally when she made a keith POV fic I slid in and was like > u > is it okay if I do like a shiro response thing? She said yeah so here we are. I’m not going to be adding much to the plot of the AU since, well, it’s HER AU so. Just enjoy this fluffy set up. I figured it might be cool to see Shiro’s POV. This is my first fic ever on this site mario voice LET’S-A GO

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interject but, what are they?” 

Shiro had just dismissed his morning class and right before the students began filing out, a young man in the front row stood and began telling everyone about some puppies that were for sale by a family friend. Only two of the 32 students stayed back to listen but, after hearing the asking price for them, they also left disinterested. Could anyone blame them? These were college students. They didn’t have the money for a full tank of gas half the time, let alone a purebred pedigree puppy. Though, the way that the puppies were being described, Takashi Shirogane; Army veteran turned criminal justice professor by day and English teacher for Japanese transfer students and immigrants by night, on top of all that, recently single and feeling the beginnings of loneliness in his now empty apartment, was very interested.

“Samoyeds? They’re big, fluffy, white dogs. Really smart and love being active. Great with dogs and people. Here, I have pictures of the puppies.” 

A couple weeks later, Shiro brought home a three month old male Samoyed puppy named Atlas. He came with that name and seeing as Shiro didn’t have a reason to change it and give the poor thing an identity crisis on top of a brand new home and family, he kept it.

Keeping Atlas active was the joy of Shiro’s day. He didn’t feel entirely comfortable taking him out on walks in the beginning so he made sure to paper train him and play with Atlas whenever he could or wanted to. And Shiro always wanted to. God, how could something be so cute? 

Once Atlas got to be around six months old and grew into something that didn’t resemble an overstuffed Pomeranian and more of a husky sized piece of marshmallow fluff, Shiro began taking him out. Pretty soon, he realized just how much of an understatement ‘great with dogs and people’ really was.

Walks took anywhere between 45 minutes to over an hour just to walk a few blocks because of how much Atlas wanted to sniff everything, greet everyone, and inspect each new thing he came across. Which, at only six months of age, was damn near everything. Adore his new pet that he did and appreciate the love and comfort his adorable presence gave him, Shiro did not have time for these kinds of excursions. Obviously, he wasn't going to forego walking Atlas. That wasn’t fair to him and would only make them both miserable. So, Atlas got his walks when Shiro has the time to be out that long which was very early in the morning before Shiro had to go to work--and Shiro already started his mornings at 5-- and at night when Shiro’s evening classes were done. Still, that meant that Atlas was alone for upwards of 12 hours every week day. Needless to say, baby gates and lots of pee pads were needed. It was working, Shiro rationalized, but not well.

Right around the time where Atlas’ attitude began souring due to being left alone and bored literally all day, five days a week, Shiro noticed a new figure in his apartment building and around his neighborhood. 

He would always be on the phone, be it texting or talking, walking like he was late for something with a distinct metallic jamboree of keys at his hip that Shiro’s only ever heard on the belt of the janitors at his school, and with a dog. A different dog every time. He’s a dog-walker. Yes! Perfect!

But damn him if he ever got the chance to stop and ask him for his information. Shiro hasn’t even really seen the walker’s face because by the time he hears those keys ringing together and looks up, the walker has zoomed passed him and out the door leading to the street. As such, Shiro got very acquainted with the dog-walker’s back.

He isn’t tall. If Shiro could guess he was five-foot-eight? Maybe five-foot-ten? It’s hard to gauge the size of something when that something fades into the distance every time you try to focus on it. He’s thin but not scrawny with broad, proud shoulders. His hair is just long enough to be put into a ponytail, which it always is. It’s tied back tight, every spare strand choked into a ring of elastic but even then, there’s barely enough length for it to even arc downward. It’s a little spike of hair at the base of his skull and pops with every step he takes. It’s a cute image that makes Shiro smile whenever he can catch it. Shiro discovers himself wanting very much to know what the constantly-walking-away-boy looks like because the back of him leaves Shiro with so many questions and a lingering sense of guilt that he finds him attractive with so little evidence to support it. 

It’s only by sheer force of will that Shiro hasn’t watched his butt as he power-walks away…

Yet.

The walker always strides with purpose in black canvas combat boots that thud confidently against the tile hallway. The telltale swishing of his red windbreaker is also a constant. His voice tells Shiro a bit about him as well; he’s young. Not terribly young. If Shiro had to guess, he would estimate anywhere between 20 and 23. The walker isn’t a fan of talking on the phone though, always giving short and concise answers with an attitude one would not call particularly warm and welcoming. In the few times Shiro has heard him finish a conversation and hang up, there’s always a sigh afterwards followed by some mumbling that sounds more like an agitated growl.

It’s for this exact reason that Shiro hasn't just stopped him during one of the times he barely catches him.

First and foremost, the walker is at work and Shiro can’t imagine that he, himself, would like it very much if someone interrupted one of his lessons to ask him when he’s available for tutoring. Therefore, the walker would fairly likely not want to be stopped and set back on his schedule just to answer some stranger’s question. Secondly, he doesn’t seem to be in the best of moods while he’s working and, while Shiro is not someone that you would call cowardly, he isn’t exactly excited by the idea of getting yelled at first thing after leaving for school.

Atlas needs a walker ASAP but Shiro isn’t anything if he isn’t calculating. In a way that he most certainly doesn’t see why anyone would consider stalker-ish, he observes the walker’s patterns to see if there’s a break in his rounds for Atlas to be added. 

Wednesdays, Shiro is off. Where he should be sleeping in, doing laundry, catching up on emails, Shiro is quietly reading the paper at his dining room table which happens to be close enough to his front door that he can hear when people walk passed. Combat boots, windbreaker and janitor’s keys pass by close to noon. They come back a little after 12:30, then again at 2 and return just passed 3. After that time, Shiro puts Atlas into his car and takes him to the dog park to expel as much energy as possible. Then, around dinner, he hears the walker again. Alright. By the sound of it, he seems to have a steady pace of walks, Shiro assumes as if he has anything close to an accurate frame of reference.

Truthfully, he’s near desperation.

Shiro’s schedule puts him in and out of his apartment at almost random times. Mondays, he leaves by 6 in the morning, Tuesdays and Thursdays, he leaves by 12. Fridays, he’s gone by 8. Every day, though, he isn’t home until close to 9PM. He’ll take whatever times the walker has open.

It’s Wednesday again and Shiro has an appointment with his physical therapist in an hour. Always a thrilling experience to be told the muscles he has left in what’s remaining of his arm are slowly failing and there’s very little to be done about it. In preparation for said painful and just this side of uncomfortably awkward appointment, Shiro walks the one block to his local Starbucks. He’s answering one of many unread emails from his phone when--

Red windbreaker. Janitor keys. Out of habit, an embarrassing impulse that can only be compared to Pavlov’s dog, Shiro looks up and there it is; the dog walker’s back dashing through the crowd like a fish through water. He doesn’t have a dog with him. Is he off work? Shiro checks the time on his watch in a flash; 2:10. Yes, he should be working. After a small hop to see over the river of people separating them, Shiro spies a black ponytail turning sharply and--

Going into the Starbucks.

If you ask Shiro whether or not he ran in after him, he’ll tell you no. And he would be lying.

He’s in line right behind the dog walker. This is the closest they’ve ever been and Shiro starts off with confirming that this young man can’t be more than five-foot-nine and that he smells strongly of dog. Not in an unclean way though, to his relief. The ponytail he’s been watching is much wavier than he thought initially. Less of a spike and more like a wiry Jack Russell’s tail which makes it even cuter. This close, Shiro can also see that his neck is long with skin just tinted enough to suggest a foreign lineage. Or a love of the sun. His waist is small and, as Shiro moves to adjust his own jacket that was jostled around his torso when he definitely wasn’t running, he gets a fleeting size comparison between the spread of his hand and the width of where the walker’s torso tapers in and…

Shiro could probably lift him with one hand. No, he definitely could. Easily. Wow. That’s an image he throws out of his mind like it will set him on fire.

He comes back to the present when the line moves and the walker is one person away from the counter. Now. Do it now. Tap him on the shoulder and ask him about-- What was it? Dog! Right! Walk! Atlas dog. Walk dog Atlas. My Atlas dog, you walk please?

Nailed it.

Tap, tap.

Of all the colors Shiro thought the walker’s eyes would be, deep dark indigo that fades into lavender in some places was definitely not on the list. It makes Shiro’s breath stop at his adam’s apple. His dark bangs look soft, framing his face in their own swaying interpretations. Aforementioned face is angular but not at all in the same ways that Shiro’s is. He looks like he belongs on the cover of a magazine, not picking up dog poop.

Even though Shiro hasn’t let out his first breath, he inhales through his nose again, making his shoulders rise and chest swell. Say something. Oh, my God you actual buffoon introduce yourself!

“Uh…” He’s met with. Thankfully, it doesn’t come to him in a growl that he’s come to associate this person with.

There’s nothing to thank other than overly practiced autopilot that takes Shiro through his first coherent sentence. Even as he says it, all superior brain functions have come to a crashing halt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.” Please don’t tell me to screw off. “You’re a dog walker, right?”

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on twitter! <3 @JaySuoh


End file.
